If you loved reading the poem above, you'd sure enjoy the story behind it. So let me be a short non-fiction story-teller for you.
Very recently I traveled through the Indigo airline. I am a frequent Indigo flier and prefer their services as they are nicer than the rest. I was on Delhi to Bangalore flight. The total air time of this particular flight is almost 2.7 hours. Not soon after the air craft took off did my son put on a show of watching a movie. I tried but all went in vein. I had to take out my laptop. Secretly I was glad for finding a way to kill the annoying boredom. We finally resorted for Angry Birds but after sometime, it appeared boring to me while my kid kept enjoying the movie with an envious concentration.
The boredom slowly started to grow on me. Even music could not offer any help. So my final savior was - Guess what? - Writing! Yes. I fished out my little pad and a pen from the purse and started a poem. I guess within ten minutes I was ready with one. But to complete it, I needed to know the height we were at. So I summoned an air hostess and put forward my query. She answered and then asked whether I was collecting some information. I said, no! I am making a poem. She was surprised and then we had a little chit chat about poems and reading habits. It was nice to hear she loved reading too. Afterwards, she went away to go about her job and I finally got to complete the poem. Not to boast myself but I was quite amused over how it had turned out. After a few minutes, the same air hostess dropped by my seat (without me pressing the call button) and asked:
Where did you reach (in poem)?
Me: I am done!
She smiled and asked whether she could read it. I gladly handled the pad to her and bit my nails and pulled my hair (in my head of course) thinking about my illegible writing but she read the entire poem smoothly, without a single question. She said she liked the poem and then I told her that I am a writer.
She: Oh really! Have you written any book yet?
Me: Of course I have.
And then I opened my Kindle and showed her the e-book version of It's Never Too Late. She was glad and then we talked a little more. By this time, the boredom was crushing to pieces noiselessly. She asked whether I could mail the poem to her. This may get published in the Indigo magazine. I said, absolutely and then took her e-mail id with a promise to send it after landing home. Her name was Ishita. And then we both got absorbed in our jobs, she in assisting others and me thinking about having yet another pleasant experience with Indigo airlines. Ishita's thoughtfulness and kindness are impressive.
But much unlike Bollywood movies, I could not send her the poem right away because I had some urgent commitments to comply with. When I finally found some time yesterday, I did mail her the poem framed in a nice image. I hope she will like it. She is yet to reply.